A living Virus
by AshtonCat
Summary: Cyrus is saved and befriends his savior, somewhat. this was written for my own enjoyment. but why not share it? rated T for Cyrus' lovely swearing.
1. Chapter 1

This is pure unbridled mind vomit that had to get out.

Chapter 1

There was a blinding pain in his lower leg and he vaguely remembered Poe, the free man, the troublemaker, driving the sharp end of a broken stick through his shin and calf. His entire body felt on fire, it had been through quite a lot and not even Cyrus the Virus could handle all of this abuse. He didn't know where he was, but he was aware he was somewhere quiet and comfortable. His battered body laid to rest in a comfortable bed, too comfortable for it to belong in prison, or even a prison hospital ward. He must have had produced some sort of sound, because the reply that came was a soothing voice telling him to calm down and rest. Someone was touching him, and even though it didn't hurt, he tried to avoid the gentle hand. He wasn't keen on being touched. His father used to beat him senseless when he was just a little boy, and his mother, too drunk and hooked on crack to even notice, did nothing to protect her young son.

The hand on his forehead disappeared and was replaced by two hands touching his painful leg, causing him to squirm. Someone was hurting him and he wanted that someone to go away and leave him the fuck alone, but the voice returned, now clear. "Easy, easy, Cyrus. Calm down. I'm trying to help you" A woman? There was a woman touching him? Whatever, woman or not, unhand me. He thought. Get your fucking hands off me, he continued squirming after a moment of confusion. "Don't fight me, I'm not trying to hurt you. You're shivering.." a soft blanket was placed over him and only now he noticed he was cold.

"Get.. away from.. me" he managed to rasp, trying to sound as angry as possible. But the hands continued, unwrapping his leg, cleaning the wound with a biting substance and rewrapping it in clean, cool band aid. The woman didn't answer, simply continued cleaning his wounds and placing a cool, wet cloth on his sweaty forehead. It made him shiver even more and he closed his eyes to the fevered sensations that shocked his already weakened system. "Sleep, Cyrus. You need to rest, or you will die." The woman spoke. "Am I not dead? It feels like I'm dead. It feels like I'm in hell" he mumbled, his head going from side to side in everlasting restlessness, never at peace, never relaxed.

"You're not in hell.. " she answered, placing a warm hand on his freezing shoulder. Her touch hurt, his shoulder was too bruised up and he growled in pain. "I'm sorry. I will tend to your bruises in a moment. Your leg needed to be treated first. Rest, Cyrus, all will be well" she said. He concentrated on his breathing while she tended to his injuries, staring at the white ceiling. He slowly became more aware of his surroundings. His attention was drawn to his right side, where a machine announced his heart rate with a soft, rhythmical beep. He listened to it for a few minutes, as it slowly calmed down. "Your heart is fine" the woman spoke, her face coming into view as she hovered over him to refresh the cloth on his brow. "It's just a precaution. You've been on it for the past few hours, I'll disconnect you in an hour or so if it keeps beating this beautifully" she was young, too young, to be tending to a murdering bandit like him, he thought. Whoever put her in charge of such a dangerous and ridiculous task deserved a good beating.

"Now tell me, Cyrus. I need to know this, do you feel pain anywhere else but your leg and head?" her question brought him out of his thoughts and he tried to lock eyes with her, but her image was still fuzzy and trying to focus hurt his head. There was no use playing the tough guy right now, she was trying to help him, and help he needed, he knew that much. "Breathing.." he answered, swallowing thickly. She nodded in understanding. "You hit electricity wire during your fall off the crane. It's possible your lungs got a little fried, it'll pass in a few days. Let me know if you have any real trouble breathing, I'll give you some oxygen" she sounded like a doctor. But not a prison doctor, they were never this careful with him, and they were hardly ever young females.

He felt a short, sharp sting in his arm and moved his head to see what she was doing. "it's alright" she said, holding an empty syringe. "It's for the pain. Try to get some sleep, are you warm enough?" he was still shivering, but didn't feel cold so he nodded and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and with no other men around, he felt like he could relax and sleep for a little bit, maybe half an hour. What could happen in half an hour that he needed to be awake for? The woman continued soothing him with words of comfort, atleast she wasn't going to do him any harm. He drifted off to sleep listening to her calming voice.

"when will he be fit for travel? He doesn't seem to be very gravely injured, does he?"

A male voice disturbed Cyrus in his much needed sleep and he frowned, not willing to wake up yet. His body felt sore, but the bed was comfortable and he was feeling warm. There was no way he was going to open his eyes right now. Vaguely, he heard his heart monitor beeping up a storm at the tension the male voice caused.

"He's waking up.." the voice said.

"You need to leave. He needs to rest." That voice he recognized, it was hers. He opened one eye when he heard a door slam shut. The man was gone and the heart monitor calmed down again. "I know you're awake, Cyrus. That was marshal Larkin coming to check up on me" she said leaning over him and adjusting the covers on his bed. So the authorities knew where he was, splendid. That meant he needed to get away from his place as soon as possible. His opened eye jumped through the dim bedroom, looking for an exit or escape route, there was a window on his right side that looked out on the many lights in down town Las Vegas.

She finally had enough of the heart monitor announcing the man in the bed was having a slight panic attack and turned it off, removing the pads on his chest carefully. "How are you feeling?" she asked simply, waiting for his reply. Still looking around the room, he was distracted. "I'm okay" he mumbled, trying to sit up. His body protested in every way possible, feeling muscles ache he never even knew he possessed. The room was spinning in front of his eyes and he felt like he was going to be sick, but she was there at his side, placing a cup of water in his hand. "Drink" she said.

He did as he was told, something very unlike him. But what of it? She was helping him, and even though that was hard to imagine for him, he was willing to accept it while he still needed her aid. Someone probably paid her a shitload of money to take care of his sorry ass. Maybe Larkin himself, he seemed to be a goody two shoes now more than ever, perhaps he thought that a pretty little nurse was just the thing to lift the Virus' spirits. He snorted at the idea, sipping the cup of water rather gratefully, he was thirsty but hadn't realized it before. He blinked when she came into view, now finally able to make out her features more clearly.

She really was a pretty young nurse, or whatever she did for a living, coddling convicts if that was a real profession. "You gonna throw up?" she asked, her hands in her sides. "In a moment, probably" he answered matter of factly. She placed a large metal bowl in his lap when he started sweating and swallowing nervously and looked at him sympathetically when he emptied the contents of his stomach in the surgical bowl. He rested his forehead in his hand to catch his breath when he was done and didn't even notice when she removed the bowl and left to clean it. "The last time I felt this dreadful, stomach flu was going rapid in prison, one by one they fell. I had it too, felt like I threw up my entire digestive system" he said. She placed the clean bowl on his side table and gently guided him to lay down again, placing a cool, wet cloth on his forehead like she had done before.

"I can't imagine what it would be like to be sick in prison" she said, dabbing his sweated face. "Pretty unfair, actually. You're already serving time for what you did by just being there every day for years. And on top of that you have to feel like utter shit too" he explained, gazing at the ceiling. "Did they come to help you?" her question was of an innocence he hadn't seen in years and it almost made him chuckle. "I believe they gave me aspirin for my sore abdomen the morning after" she nodded, atleast that had been a good thing. "But they had to send a doctor to me anyway because the fever had cooled me down so much, I was freezing to death right there in my cell. I remember asking a guard for an extra blanket, but that request was ignored unfortunately" he continued, not feeling sorry for himself, simply telling her what happened to convicts if they fell ill. Then again, he didn't know how objective his story was, the guards treated him extremely bad, worse than others.

"Let me know when you need an extra blanket" she said simply, smiling down at him. He was silenced by her kindness, not familiar with it, he had been in a rough environment for so many years. He hardly knew what to do when someone was just simply being nice to him. He nodded, awkwardly and turned on his side to make himself comfortable, his stomach protesting at the movement. He fell asleep listening to the rain outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Cyrus?"

Leave me alone. Fuck off, whoever you are.

"Cyrus, it's Marshal Larkin. I know you're not feeling very well but I can't wait any longer, I need to discuss a few things with you. Don't you want to know why you're not in prison?"

Because it would look bad on your resume if I died, that's why, Cyrus thought.

"You owe it to Lillian over here to behave yourself and answer my questions, how about that? She's been working her butt off to care for you. And she has done a marvelous job too, you're on the mend"

So her name was Lillian than. Good to know, thanks for the information, now fuck off.

"You're starting to get on my nerves here, Cyrus"

Starting? Look what I did to your goddamn plane. Eventhough it wasn't my idea to crash it into Las Vegas. He listened as Larkin left his bedside with angry strides and smiled to himself when he heard the marshal sigh in annoyance.

"He refuses to talk to me, Lillian. Will you be so kind as to ask him these questions? Maybe he answers them if you ask. He's known to be rather polite to women" Larkin said, handing Lillian a document. She nodded and stuffed it in her pocket. "I'll try when he feels a little better" she said, smiling lightly at the marshal. "I'll come back tomorrow to see how you're doing.. and how he's doing of course, obviously" Larkin said and walked back into the livingroom to see Cyrus sitting up slowly in his bed, their eyes met for a second, causing Cyrus to roll his eyes.

"I'm glad to see you up. You've been sleeping an awful lot, I was starting to worry" the marshal said, walking up to the bed. "Yeah, people tend to sleep a lot when they get thrown around like a ragdoll, Vince" Cyrus sneered. "You'll be alright, or so I've heard. Listen, you know just as well as I that this isn't permanent. Once you're healed, you're going back to prison. Just so you know, I've got guards all around the building, there is no way you can escape. I know you won't harm miss Porter over here, and I trust you not to change your mind about that. Do I have your word, Cyrus?" Larkin asked, sounding as dead serious as he possibly could. "why, marshal. Do I detect concern in your voice over little miss Lillian over here? Is she in any way related to you perhaps?" the marshal rolled his eyes. "If you must know, yes. She's my sister's daughter. She volunteered for this and she's been watching over you ever since we brought you in here, and she's been doing it with more love and tenderness than you ever deserved, alright Cyrus?"

The criminal simply nodded in understanding, he never disliked the marshal, and he could easily promise to never hurt his niece. "How did you get the blue prints of the plane?" straight to the point the marshal was. Cyrus thought for a moment, how did he get those blue prints again? He flinched when he hurt his head by making his brain go into overdrive. "I bought them from another convict that worked in the library" he said, rubbing his temples. "and how did he get his hands on those blue prints?" Larkin asked, but Cyrus shook his head. "I have no idea. I didn't know he had them till someone told me about it. I guess he wasn't all that good in keeping secrets"

"who is this contact in South America that you apparently worked for?"

"Cindino. A convict from another prison."

"You two were friends?"

"Until it turned out he set me up. I set him on fire"

"who shot the DEA?"

"I did when he threatened to kill me. He did it himself, you know. I didn't know who he was and I didn't give a shit either. I thought he was another convict. Another one that couldn't keep his secrets to himself"

Lillian interrupted holding a glass of water. "I think that's enough for today. He shouldn't be up for this long" she handed Cyrus the glass and looked up at the marshal, who nodded in defeat. "No, marshal. It's way past my bed time. I think I missed sesame street because of this interview" the criminal sneered. Larkin gave him an unamused glare while pulling on his coat. "you behave yourself" he said and left the apartment. The criminal lay back down slowly, the ordeal had exhausted him. He had begun to doze off when he felt something cool against his forehead, Lillian was dabbing his brow with another compress, trying to help him fight his fever. He gazed at her for a while with his usual unreadable expression.

"well, well miss Lillian Porter. Taking care of dangerous convicts like you would take care of a sick puppy, aren't we? Well I suppose being the marshal's niece, if anything should happen to you, you know how to get your revenge" Cyrus said, closing his eyes once more, the light hurting his tired eyes. "I suppose I could should I wish for it. Get some rest now" she answered. He sighed, he wanted to, but he couldn't right now. "Help me out of this bed" he grumbled and sat up once again. "You shouldn't be up, Cyrus, your leg.." "Hurts like a motherfucker, little bitty miss Lillian dear.. but if I don't take a piss right now, I'll be doing it allover your pretty, white sheets" he shot back, rendering her silent.

He gingerly put some of his weight down on his wounded lower leg and hissed in pain, grabbing a chair to hold himself up. She reached out to support him, but changed her mind, she figured he might not want to feel weak. He limped away and locked the bathroom door behind him, giving her time to change the sheets on his bed.

It was in the bathroom that he realized he was wearing nothing but his underwear, and that wasn't even underwear he recognized. So that's why he was so cold, was he that much out of it? Get your shit together, Cyrus. How are you ever going to get yourself out of this joint if you're not even aware of what you're wearing? He left the bathroom and slumped down on her couch while the young girl was still cleaning up his bed. "You do this more often?" he asked. She looked up at him. "what, cleaning the bed?" she said. "Volunteering to take care of a murdering, escaped convict"

"Oh, no this is my first time actually. Someone had to do it. Your bed is ready" he simply stared at her, trying to make sense of what she told him. "I suppose a hospital could have done this too, with less chance of me escaping, hijacking another plane and killing more people. Not to mention the risk I could be to your safety. I just wonder what made you decide to volunteer for this" he said. She shrugged, cleaning up his side table. "And drag your bed into your living room" he continued, raising his eyebrows in question. "I needed room for all this equipment" she said, pointing at the heart monitor and oxygen tanks. "why, though? Aren't you scared? At all?" he asked, calmly. "Should I be, Cyrus?" he chuckled bitterly. What was left of him probably didn't look all that threatening, he could hardly walk to the bathroom by himself. "Guess not" he mumbled.

After a moment of silence she walked over to the couch and sat down beside him, holding out her hand for him to shake. "Perhaps it's time for a proper introduction. Hello, I'm Lillian Porter" he hesitated for a moment but then took her hand in greeting. "Cyrus Grissom" he said. "I know this all might seem strange to you, but I couldn't let them take you with them. You would never heal if they brought you back to prison right away. Don't you know you're malnourished? We ran a blood test on you, your vitamin levels are the worst I've ever seen" he waited till she was done with her little rant. No, he didn't know he was malnourished, then again he never really gave a rat's ass about his health. He had been in prison for 25 years, no exactly good for one's health either.

"Vince called me when they found you and asked me to do this" she finally confessed, making him chuckle softly. Marshal goody two shoes to the rescue. "That must have been an interesting phone call" he replied, making her laugh. "they had placed you on a blue police coat and were busy hooking you up to fluids. Someone was holding a shirt to the wound on your head, you were bleeding out in front of us. I had to decide right there" she continued, he was silent. "Vince told me what had happened and who you were and what kind of interactions you had with him. He told me you'd never harm me. You never hurt any women"

Well, he put a gun to the head of that female guard on the plane. But other than that, he couldn't remember if he ever really harmed a woman.

"You were so tired, Cyrus" I still am, he thought. I'd be in that bed snoring up a storm right now if it was up to me. "How long have I been here?" he asked simply. "three days. You slept through the whole one and a half day. I was worried you might have slumped into a coma, but the doctor said you were simply sleeping. You reminded me of my cat. I got her out of the shelter, she slept for three days straight when I took her home. Sleep off the prison bars, they called it" she said, smiling kindly at him. "Lucky cat" he mumbled, letting his eyes roam through the livingroom. She had a nice apartment. Spacious and well furnished, a cozy home.

"so you're going to hand my back over to your beloved uncle once I'm healed?" he asked. She nodded after a moment. "when you're strong enough to go back to prison" he corner of his mouth twitched in a small smile "well I guess I'm going to have to find ways to convince you I'll be a sick puppy for the next three months then, hm?" he said, looking at her. "You could try" she answered. He nodded and got up from the couch, needing to lay down again, he limped back to his bed and lay down. "Nurse, oh nurse.. I think it's time to tuck me in now. Will you read me a story, nurse?" he said, causing her to roll her eyes. "You're a big boy, Cyrus. I think you can manage that on your own" he faked a look of hurt and disappointment. "Now, miss Porter, I liked you much better when you still thought I was dying. Where did all the coddling go? I kinda liked it. Should I cough a little, would that help?" he was mocking her, and she didn't like it, he could feel her withdraw more and more.

"Get some sleep, Cyrus" she said and left the room, closing the door to her office so he was left alone with his growing headache. Now he felt bad for offending her. Cyrus, you dick. Show some gratitude or atleast be polite to a woman that is risking her life and reputation to get you back on your feet. That girl has taken better care of you in three days than your mother did in 14 years. He sighed in frustration with himself. Being nice was hard, really hard. "Hey!" he yelled, deciding to apologize. "Come back!" when she didn't respond he grumbled. "I fell out of bed! I'm bleeding!" he yelled, lying to get her out of that office room. She appeared in the doorway, annoyed. "stop being the boy that cries wolf too many times. If something does happen to you someday, I won't come because I'll think you're putting on a show again. What is it?" she said. He bit his lip for a moment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mocked you. Stay here, I like your company" he tried to sound as sincere as possible, but she didn't move out of the doorway, she simply crossed her arms in reply, gazing at him.

"Oh come on, sweetheart. Don't be like that now. What do I need to do? Buy you roses?" he sneered, getting impatient. She chuckled and shook her head, walking up to his bedside. "I don't want to give Vince a reason to kill you. You're better off not giving me anything, especially not roses" she said, straightening the covers on his bed. "Ah no, we don't want dear uncle to think our relationship goes beyond that of a nurse and her patient, do we? Tell me though, are you a nurse?" he asked, making himself comfortable in the bed, gazing up at her. "I'm a veterinarian" she answered. He laughed. "of course you are. And you were just the person to take care of this animal. This explains the whole sick puppy thing, although I do believe I'm more talkative than most of your patients"

"You're not an animal, Cyrus. I should know. Maybe you started feeling like one after being in prison for so long" she said, her smile disappearing. She adored her freedom, she couldn't imagine giving it up and living in prison for 25 years. "I have a rather convincing bark, though. I fooled many guards with my dog barking skills. Another thing I could train to perfection with this excessive amount of time they give when they lock you up" she stared at him for a moment but then bursted out laughing. "You barked at prison guards?" she asked. He chuckled and shrugged, he couldn't deny he liked her more when she was laughing about him instead of being upset with him. "Only if they deserved a concert" he replied and sighed, his headache was ruining his conversation with the first friendly person he met in a long, long time.

"Are you alright?" her voice snapped him out of his frustration and he nodded, giving her a slight assuring smile. "I don't think any nurse or doctor could have done a better job fixing up this wild dog though, miss Porter, for what it matters coming from one" he said. She was rendered silent for a couple of minutes. "Thank you, Cyrus. You can call me Lillian if you want" she answered. He rolled onto his side, his back to her, this woman was reopening wounds and awakening feelings he thought he silenced years ago. Things you lose when you serve a long time behind bars. The first five years are the toughest, it's when you have to learn to accept you'll never get out, even if you do manage to escape, they'll find you someday and bring you back. He never wanted to go back to feeling those realizations again, so he turned his back to her kind face and closed his eyes. "Lillian then, whatever you wish" he mumbled. he felt her adjust the covers of the bed and pull them over his shoulders, then she walked away, leaving him to get some rest. The last thing he heard before drifting off to sleep, was the persistent meow of a hungry cat.


End file.
